Ambivalence
by DeathRace6000
Summary: "You were different." He said to her unconscious form. "Even in the end, you hated me differently than all the others."


I heavily enjoy writing unconventional couples, especially ones that have awfully complex and layered relationships. I've always wanted to write something having to do with Deep Blue and Ichigo, and I finally did! Enjoy!

**Ambivalence**

Malice. He wore it so well; the majestic robes of a reigning king.

On that night, he was the very thing. All navy and darkness, he stood over her conquered form, silently assessing the remains of a warrior once so great. Her cotton-candy pink dress, trimmed in a fabric of deep magenta, was a ghost of its former glory, barely hanging on in some places and replaced by bare, charred skin in others. Her boots were long gone, abandoned in some heap of destruction on the streets of Tokyo, and her gloves had been stolen by the thieving winds that ravaged the land when there were no skyscrapers left to halt their paths.

Momomiya Ichigo looked every bit a corpse and worse, with her reddened skin seared with the horrors of his conquest and defoliated by the pebbles that had shredded her flesh like ribbons as she was dragged from the battlegrounds to his newly constructed fortress. Scraggly hair poked out in all directions, some clumps pink and matted with blood, others red and drenched with sweat and tears. The furry cat ears that once peeked out from her mane of candy-floss had disappeared, but her tail still remained as she was suspended in an awkward state of de-transformation. The mix of colors, whimsical and girlish pinks and the deeper, subdued reds clashed against one another in a battle of dominance; the supernaturalness of her existence battling the mundaneness of the human life she took pleasure in. To him, her tail seemed like an anachronism, a lingering piece of a bygone era, for he had no intention of ever letting her undergo a metamorphosis again.

The Bell she once wielded was shattered into thousands of irreconcilable pieces, and spread over the wasteland once called Tokyo. Her armor, or the silly costume that she wore in its place, had been ravaged by the cruelties of war. Ichigo herself teetered on the thin line between life and death.

Deep Blue prided himself on vanquishing the spirit of the fiercest soldier alive, and simultaneously hated the sadistic facet of him that found delight in such a thing.

He perched himself on the corner of the stiff mattress, and smoothed a hand over the patch of hair that reached towards the high heavens twice, not even blinking when the mass refused to cave to his ministrations.

Briefly, his eyes of ice darted to her smooth, swan-like neck that had somehow remained unscathed. Tracing the sharp point of his nail down the flesh, he drew invisible lines on her skin. Some were long, winding curves, others short and sharp lines, but each and every one met in some way, forming incantations written in his native language. They meant nothing without the catalyst named blood, but it was somehow fulfilling to know that he could end her life with little effort.

Part of him wanted to.

The girl before him embodied the hatred he had been faced with for centuries, the contempt of times in which he was dark and powerless. Every moment spent in her company as Aoyama Masaya was full of innocent adoration, a blooming love with delicateness of a rose, but as his glamour faded, blue-black hair deepening into a shade of night, brown eyes freezing over, and skin becoming the color of snowfall, Deep Blue watched the emotions drain from her limpid eyes. Like every individual he had crossed paths with, she loved a lie.

Her features were rigid, as if she were a statue carved of marble, rather than a sleeping woman. Deep Blue cupped her cheek, the skin cold to the touch, and gave her a gentle slap, but her head only tossed limply to the side. Again, he was unfazed, and looked down at her with the most stoic of expressions. To him, emotions were frivolous, unaffordable luxuries. They belonged to the humans he despised, and with their eradication, he had hoped to destroy those vices.

"You were different." He said to her unconscious form. "Even in the end, you hated me differently than all the others."

In a single strike, his hand had claimed her throat, the flesh of his palm flush against that of her neck. He seized hold of her and thrusted her almost lifeless body on the headboard, ignoring the awful crack of her spine. Crashing his lips onto hers, he kissed her with all of the ferocity and the hatred of his heart. Deep Blue kissed her to smother her in his essence, to break her with his being, and to tell her that even when she looked at him with brown eyes full of hate, that he loved her just as he had when he breathed as another.

**End**

I'd love reading what anyone has to say, so please review!


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